


The Prince, The Knight And The Fool

by ElenaCee, Macko_m



Category: Highlander: The Series, Kindred: The Embraced, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenaCee/pseuds/ElenaCee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macko_m/pseuds/Macko_m
Summary: This is a story about the twists and turns of immortal life. Thusly, it twists and turns different universes, mingling them together, because sometimes, one story universe is not enough. In the midst of myths and suspense, Daedalus seems to get a Life, Callum finds his destination, and Julian learns a lesson.





	1. Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> A novel by Macko and Elena
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> Daedalus and Julian Luna, Daniel, the tall man with the cute nose and Sean Burns are more or less familiar because – well, they’re supposed to be. They’re not ours, they belong to big companies who make lots of money with them, but lo! we don’t make any money using them, we just borrow them over night and put them back nice and clean before dawn. Dr. Callum McKay, though, is ours. Nay, he actually belongs to himself, and any familiarities with living persons are no coincidence. He is a real existing person (his name, profession and whereabouts being but slightly altered). Please watch, don’t touch. The same will be applied to Marcos and Chrysaor. Thank you. Macko & Elena
> 
> Category: drama, hurt/comfort, slash, first time  
> Pairings: Daedalus/OMC, Daedalus/Julian, Julian/OMC, OMC/OMC  
> Kindred: The Embraced/Highlander/Stargate SG-1 crossover  
> Time line: Kindred: The Embraced: Following "The Cabin In The Woods"; Highlander: any season; Stargate: SG-1: before the Pilot  
> Warning: This story contains explicit male/male sex, violence and sucking of blood and other bodily liquids. If this kind of thing offends you, don't read this story.
> 
> Authors' Notes:  
> We realize that, for this story to work, the events in Stargate:SG-1 have to take place about 20 years in the future.  
> The part of Callum McKay is especially dedicated to M. "Gromi" Schmidt, the damn best psychologist and grandmother I can think of.

_Callum_

San Francisco… City of my dreams. I arrived in the city yesterday night, and the sight of the Golden Gate Bridge was overwhelming. It took the cab ages to get through to the hospital, twiddling itself through the hustle and bustle of a city preparing for a night out, but it gave me a good opportunity to look at my new homeland.

City of my dreams… I recall the sweaty nights in clubs, the darkrooms, the numerous pretty faces, men who were as eager as myself to find someone to love – well, no – to make love with, for a night or two, or maybe even a fortnight. But that was then and this is now, and I shouldn’t look back. I should rather listen to what Sean taught me, my dearest friend and teacher, and the one person to whom I owe this job. Without the fantastic references he gave me, I wouldn’t have dreamt of going to the States again, of applying for this ward doctor job. Without his connections (or should I call it intervention?) I wouldn’t have got it.

Officially, I’m not even here as a psychologist. This ward doesn’t have one, the hospital provides one therapist only, and she is in other sections most of her time, like geriatrics or gynaecology or what knows I. No, it is good old medicine I’m in, and I have been hired as a physician; officially. The prospect of this particular problem, though, the traumatized children, the need for a psychologist without extra cost, must have contributed to my getting this job.

Now I am here, my packets have arrived safely, I’ve had some hours of sleep (and will I ever catch up with this sleep deficit I’ve had since I was studying?) and I made my first round. The hospital has kindly provided me with sleeping quarters until I've found myself a place to stay.

Thirty children are living in this hospital at the moment, thirty traumatized little souls stuck in here. I know something dreadful has happened in this ward, my ward now, and some of it happened to my predecessor. As far as I can tell, being burnt in an oven isn’t what people expect. I wasn’t even told about that by the local authorities, such as management or police or the like, but by a little boy who happened to be witness to this gruesome scene. This little boy, though, will be gone tomorrow, because he had a spontaneous recovery. He will be replaced by another child, but as a relief, there are only twenty-nine traumatized little souls left.

So, I don’t know anything. Some of them talk to me, others are just silent. All of them are afraid, well not of me, but of the situation itself. All I can do is seeing what harm has been done and trying to make things better. First of all, there will be a thorough change of interior. The colour of the rooms, the aisles, the furniture, all this is dreadful, and if I was a little child, it would suffice to see those yellowish tiles and those bare walls to scare me shitless. Pictures, too. Maybe some of the children like to paint them for me. For us.

 

* * *

  
_Daedalus_

It is a foggy afternoon, as sometimes happens in this city. I don't mind the billowing moisture. It suits my mood, even though, hidden below ground as I am, I do not see much of its visible effects. But its scent lies in the air, filling everything with the sublime odor of earth and wet stone, something I find soothing.

I've been introspective of late, more so than usual. It happens to all of us from time to time - we question the way things are, our place in them, the meaning of our existence. That is normal. But more than this, I have begun to feel a restlessness, a need to look beyond, as though something was missing from my existence. I have no idea what this might be. Nothing has changed for me in decades. I've been content for so long, it's a mystery to me why I should feel less than content now, and for no apparent reason.

Even painting doesn't have its usual relaxing effect upon me, and I give up after an hour spent staring at an empty canvas. After some meaningless meandering through the sewers, I finally resolve to check on the children in the hospital. It has been three days since I last visited them, I realize with some surprise. How easy it is to lose track of time when all nights appear to blend together with their sameness!

Three days ago, Abel left the hospital, and I have not been back since. I quicken my pace through the sewers, angry with myself. My care for the children should not end with him. He was the one who first spoke to me, but the others need my help as much as he did.

Upon my arrival at the hospital, I become aware of something else in the air besides the fog.

Change.

Something has happened since the last time I visited with the children. It does not take me long to find out. A new doctor has arrived, a Dr. Callum McKay. Since Julian has not told me of this, I assume that this new doctor is not Kindred.

Change is not something I deal with very well. I don't like surprises. None of us do. They always introduce an element of danger. This time, the danger is not to me, but to the children I've taken under my protection. They have been treated cruelly by Kindred, and it behooves us to make up for it as best as we can. Therefore, it is my responsibility to make sure that this new doctor will be good for my children, and not another one who will abuse their helplessness.

I question a few children, gently, so as not to remind them of what happened here less than three weeks ago. They cannot tell me much about the man, except that he seems nice.

Nice. That's a non-description. A deserted sewer is nice. A dark street with many shadows under a full moon is nice. A good vintage is nice.

I need to see this doctor for myself. Finding a handy corner, I fade from sight to wait.

It doesn’t take long. He’s young, I notice with some suspicion. Are doctors this young in this day and age? Shouldn't they take longer for their studies?

He does not wear the traditional white clothes I've come to expect from the medical profession, but rather the blue jeans favored by the working classes during the last century (and by the young generation of this one). Also, his physique is not indicative of a sedentary lifestyle. Instead, he is built tall and slender, something I would expect from a sportsman, not a physician.

His eyes strike me. They are blue beneath a fringe of sandy, longish hair, and they appear unusually perceptive as he looks around the corridor through a pair of unobtrusive glasses. Lightly tanned skin with faded freckles. All in all, he looks aesthetically pleasing, if much too young and unconventional for a doctor.

I follow him into a room with three children, noting their reaction to the new head of this ward, his reaction to them. They seem to like him, which is encouraging. And, as I continue to observe, it's not surprising.

His manner is calm and gentle. He uses his words to examine his little charges, and only when they have settled does he add touch to his examination. His voice is accented, something European I haven't heard before, but then, my contact with mortals is severely limited.

I continue to follow him on his way through the ward, and my mistrust towards him is appeased more and more. He's a good man. Maybe I can trust him with my children, gradually withdraw my own presence and let them be taken care of by a mortal from now on, one of their own, as it should be.

The thought hurts.

I reluctantly walk back toward the door which will lead me to the cellar, and then I find myself hesitating.

I don't want to give this up. Through Abel's interference, something has happened here that taught these children not to fear me. He came to know me, and he told of me. They all accept my presence. I can't remember the last time a mortal looked upon me without fear or revulsion, and here is a ward full of innocents who are glad to see me, who talk to me. They're damaged and sick, but they are human, and they will recover, and they do not fear me.

If Julian can have his mortal cop to protect, then I can have my children. I turn my back to the door and return to the ward, still obfuscated.

The doctor has entered little Daniel’s room and is trying to talk to him. I follow, taking up a position near the door, to observe.

There's something about this man. As I approach him, I try to find out what it is. Some quality, something that fascinates me. Is it his eyes? The way he talks? The way he tries to coax little Daniel out of his shell with only words?

I'm only a few feet away from him now. Of course, he can't see me, but I realize he senses something. I can clearly see goose bumps rise on his neck in response to my unseen presence. Quickly, I move back to the door. It is not my intention to frighten him, but still, I don't want to leave the room just yet.

Daniel has not spoken yet, but I'm amazed to find him nodding in response to a question. This has not happened before. He has not spoken or reacted to anything around him since he came here. When I first touched his mind in order to find out what has struck him dumb, I found it in turmoil with grief, confusion, fear, and guilt, and I realized that using any kind of mind trick or domination will not help him. Neither will chemistry, or alchemy – all of those methods will only cure the symptoms, not the cause. He will have to find his way back by himself.

And now this mortal man has made him nod just by talking to him.

I want to know him. But how can I approach him?

 

* * *

 

_Callum_

I’ve been here for a couple of days now, and everything seems to be settling down nicely. The colleagues are very kind, albeit a bit intimidated, presumably by my predecessor. I try to be as open and friendly as possible without currying favour, because I need them. Well, to be honest with myself, nothing seems to be settling down at all. Some City Great Mogul called Luna is said to have promised the hospital a leisurely amount of money, and of course everybody is looking forward to putting it to good use for a whole new sanitary image. But it is not the redecorating of the hallways and rooms I’m worried about, or the pictures the children are painting. Why, what kind of pictures do you expect from children that have been abused? We will hang them up in the aisles, in spite of their questionable artistic value, if only to remind us of the job we have. It is all those little tasks besides everyday hospital routine best described as "the hygienic and digestive circle of life"; those little tasks like listening to what they are not saying.

Talking about digestion... There's something strange about the food. I mean, there is nothing wrong with the food, I've taken samples: the cocoa is just fine, the pancakes are edible, the whole range of hospital food is appropriate for, well, hospitals. And yet, most of the children seem to be starving. Some are dehydrated, too. I've tried to ask them what's wrong with the food, with the drink, but they refuse to answer me. Maybe the food was poisoned by my predecessor. Ridiculous, I'm getting paranoid already! Maybe it wasn't exactly poisoned, but some kind of sedative was added in order to keep them quiet. Rumour has it quite a lot of hospitals tend to do that to children, elderly people and all those who might be a burden otherwise. Just great.

But this is something I can take care of. If the children are afraid of eating and drinking, I will have to show them that the food and drink are all right. Which simply means that I will pay them a visit at breakfast time and have thirty small bites of pancake and thirty small cups of cocoa. Well, that's what I call commitment. Getting fat for the sake of health and morale.

Although I have been here for a few days only, I can already see that I can’t take this upon myself entirely. The harm that has been done to all of them (including the personnel) is too great for one person to deal with, and what kind of superman am I supposed to be? It is like a back flow of negative energy so strong that it sometimes makes my jaw tense while walking to my office. I can hardly sleep at night, listening to the whisper of spirits of the past.

I make my round every night, and I have promised the children that I won’t enter their rooms unless they allow me to. Most of them are wide awake when I softly knock at their doors, and many want my company; preferably for the rest of the night. The days are no better. They are demanding, and I am always tempted to spend much more time with each of them than I should allow myself in order to keep a professional distance. Daniel alone could keep me occupied the whole livelong day.

Daniel is most interesting. I would like to write more about his state of mind, but I feel distracted by other thoughts, now that I’m reflecting. Something happened in his little room today, and I can’t tell what. I felt – watched. As if some ancient ghost was standing behind me, watching my every move and word, guarding over the children. Sean once told me that I have exceptional insight, but – ghosts? I don’t know. And yet, strangest thing of all is, the children seem to sense it, too, although they tell me nothing. Especially Daniel. Which takes me back on track.

The boy is scared, but not only of the things that might have happened to him in this house. There seems to be a more important influence, like a vision, on his mind. What can it be? I have checked his records, but the only thing I found was, his parents died in an accident. Died in an accident… How? When? Well, I know when it happened, there’s a date. But that’s not all there’s to know: a date. A place. What happened exactly? What does Daniel know?

Children whose parents die in an accident don’t necessarily go mute. I must have ignored an important detail. But what? Did he hear something, did he watch? I look at his sad little face, and for a moment I see something fall, something big and dark, and then – nothing. He looks back at me, he understands, he is open to communication, but he doesn’t want to tell me. He doesn’t seem to mourn; well, at least not mourn only. It’s more like… if I only could put my finger on it… like guilt. Yuh, that’s the ticket. He feels guilty. Why? I have to find out.

 

* * *

 

_Daedalus_

I think I know now what it is about this man that draws me so. He is a transcender. He transcends walls between worlds. I’ve known about people like him, but I have never hoped to meet one.

Some mortals are able to accept our existence without automatically calling us monsters. By their mindset, they can accept that things beyond their comprehension or experience exist, and when they meet such things, they are intrigued, not frightened. Many centuries ago, during one of my philosophical phases, I spent some time pondering this, and in my mind, I called them transcenders. Well, the word does not translate very well into modern English. Diercheothaios; the goer-through. He who looks beyond. He who is ready to touch the veil. The transcender.

This Callum McKay is one of them. Watching him work with the children, and especially with Daniel, I've become convinced of this. His mind is open to possibilities. I'm almost certain that he won't run away screaming in terror when he finally sees me. Almost.

And it seems more and more inevitable that, soon, he will indeed see me. I have to be exposed to normal sight for the sake of the children if I want to talk to them, if only to avoid giving McKay the impression that his charges talk to themselves. Besides, the children are going to mention me eventually. I have tried to impress upon them the need for secrecy, but their guileless young minds have no concept of deceit and circumspection, and I don’t want to be the one to teach them.

Callum McKay will transcend the walls in Daniel’s mind to find the knots and clots that currently stem the flow of his words. Already, Daniel has begun to answer in monosyllables – a remarkable improvement. And another breakthrough has occurred with the aid of drawings.

Daniel has begun to express himself by drawing letters and hieroglyphs. I'm consumed by curiosity, so I resolve to visit him a little earlier than usual.

He looks up at me as I enter, even smiling a little.

"Hello, child," I say softly, holding back a moment before approaching. He’s still skittish. "How are you?"

His smile grows wider, which I take to mean he’s fine.

His bed is littered with paper sheets, many of them covered with multicolored designs. I go closer to him. "May I look at your drawings?"

He nods.

I'm intrigued to find that they are, indeed, hieroglyphs, real hieroglyphs. My ancient Egyptian is a little rusty, but I recognize the cartouche for Ra, surrounded by a prayer for bountiful crops. This boy either has an exceptional memory (a feat by itself), or he can actually write in this dead language.

On another sheet, I see Cyrillic letters forming perfect ancient Greek sentences. Inspiration strikes.

"Can you understand me?" I ask him in what is now regarded as classical Greek.

His eyes grow wide. "Yes," he says in the same language, and then, to my utter astonishment, he giggles. "You sound funny." His Attic Greek is clear and carefully pronounced.

I have to hold myself back from hugging him with joy. This is the first time he answered my attempts of speaking to him, the first time he let me hear his voice. "That is because I learned this language a very long time ago."

He cocks his head as he listens to my pronunciation. "How long ago? Longer than a thousand years? Is your name really Daedalus? Can you speak Minoan, too?"

I smile at his exuberance, and then I have to fight back tears of joy. A conversation with a child - the wonder of this simple thing is almost overwhelming, and my heart gives a few painful beats before stilling again. It is only then that the meaning of his questions becomes clear to me, and I stare at him in shock.

He just asked me if I learned ancient Greek a thousand years ago. No question about whether it’s possible or not, no thought about limitations of normal mortal lifespans. Another transcender!

"Have I said something wrong?" he asks hesitantly.

I gather myself. "No, no, child. You said nothing wrong. But I do wonder why you never spoke to me before. I know you speak and understand English."

He lowers his head. "I don’t like English," he mutters. "I don’t like America."

Before I can pursue this interesting revelation, a knock interrupts us. "Daniel, can I come in?"

McKay is outside the door. Damn, he must have heard something. Daniel looks at me out of big blue eyes, wondering about my reaction. I stare back, indecisive. I can’t become invisible or alter my appearance in front of the child. I can’t just ignore the good doctor. I can’t go out and confront him. If I let him come in, he will see me, which would be just as bad. Just letting a human see my face would be a breach of the Masquerade. I'd have to alter his memory, embrace him, or kill him. If I don't do any of those things, my life is forfeit.

"Daniel? I'm coming in if you don't say something."

If he goes on like this, he will scare the child. It can’t be helped. I stride over to the door and open it.

 

* * *

 

_Callum_

I have heard his voice before. I’m not quite sure when, but it was like the familiar susurrus of an old building such as my grandmother’s place. It was soft and warm, and whatever I might have thought its owner would be like, I am not prepared for what I see when the door opens.

They say you know a person at a glance. Sean said, your instincts do the rest, let them work for you. I always say, I don’t know a person, not even after a decade, and my instincts are pretty poor compared with my emotions. For instance, I don’t know anything about love at first sight. People I hated most at first sight more than often turned out to be the ones I liked most once I got to know them better. I even fell in love with some of them, my instincts being overridden by what you call common sense.

Whatever it may be, the sight of the stranger in Daniel’s room washes over me like an unusually warm tidal wave, just with a slight hint that sharks might be in it.

For one thing, he doesn’t look human. Of course, I know that he must be, though, but his cosmetic surgeon must have earned a fortune to design a head that – different. He is quite tall. I am quite tall, mind you, and he's taller than me. And bald. But it doesn't look as if he shaves his head on a regular basis, for his eyebrows are missing, too. It is more like the heads I've come to know in the cancer section. Anyway, somehow it suits his whole appearance, so whatever makes his hair stay away, it's worthwhile. His skin has an almost greyish pallor, definitely not healthy, the features look – for lack of a better word – reptile-like, especially the ears (if reptiles had ears, that is), and his whole appearance is even more grotesque because of his old-fashioned clothes. His hands look longer than usual, and at a closer look I find that he has grown and somehow shaped his fingernails into what I can only call talons. So, I have in front of me someone with a serious Goth problem. Or else, a towering pale reptile in a frock coat. If I didn’t know better, I would think he can’t be human, after all.

Then I see his eyes: dark, melancholy eyes that tell me the rest of the story. What relentless pain lies in them, what power, what expressiveness! Those eyes that look at me in expectation, rimmed with a hint of fear. And then, like so many times before when I met someone special, I feel this sensation seize me again, a feeling like being cut off reality for a sec, while the background fades into a kind of fog, and for a glimpse I see a different face, a handsome one with a dark tan, framed by curly black hair, smiling at someone from the past, altered, and yet so related to the features in front of me that it can only be him. As usual, the image is gone in an instant.

Who is he? What is he? I look at the boy, and what I detect in his face is all the answer I need. Without a word, Daniel tells me that this man needs not be feared, but may be trusted, and thus I am relieved. I stick my hand out and look into the stranger's eyes, "Hi. I am Dr. McKay. And you are…?"

I come to in my own room, safely seated on the couch. I can hear a voice in my head, it is but a blur. But, yes, if I close my eyes, I can see that face again. Dark, piercing eyes, strangely familiar, as if I’d seen them before. And I have. Or I haven’t. I look around me, feeling watched, but I am all on my own. I close my eyes again, trying to concentrate. There it is, the voice I must have heard, at least in my dreams, saying: "My name is unimportant," and then, "You will forget that you have seen me in a moment. I would advise you not to call for help – it will merely frighten the children and avail you nothing." The voice is getting softer, but I can still hear it. "Neither you nor the children have anything to fear from me." Then, there is only a soft whisper. "Forget me. Forget that you have ever seen me."

With a start, I open my eyes. Now I know what happened. I owe it to Sean that I have learned to read the signs, here they are: the slightly unsettling feeling of a kind of déjà-vu, the lack of memory, the reverberation… I must have been hypnotised. But I can’t remember what really happened. Whatever it was, I will have cameras installed in every single room tomorrow morning. And then – we’ll see.


	2. Sensations

_Callum_

It is evening again, and I can hardly remember what I’ve been doing all day long; it was a long day. I stare at the paperwork in front of me and wonder how the small heap of documents was able to grow into such a fully-grown veritable pile in less than twelve hours.

In order to get my mind clear for the next round, I look at the monitor that shows me images of the rooms, where my little charges are staying, one camera per room. I lazily switch from one to the other, watching the children read, play, eat or sleep. Nothing out of the usual. Yawning, I turn to work on my papers again, leaving the monitor set to show Daniel’s room. The boy is absorbed in drawing ancient hieroglyphs.

 

* * *

 

_Daedalus_

I did not dare let more than two nights pass. Callum's memories are altered – he will not remember me. Returning to the hospital may be a risk, but the children need me. And I have another, more selfish reason: I don’t want to be deprived of their company.

Or Callum's.

That’s the most confusing thing about this whole situation: I was right. He did not scream in terror. He looked at me, and I mean right at me, he saw me with his transcender's eyes and looked beyond my hideous exterior. I'm sure of it. The moment our eyes met is burned into my memory.

He saw me, and he looked at me with empathy, even compassion. He offered me his hand as if I were just like him. The look in his eyes warmed my soul.

I headed back to my haven, and during the long walk through the sewers that moment stayed with me. I hugged it to myself during the day's rest, and during the next night I painted him, driven by the need to take his image with me to my sanctuary and make it permanent.

Painting, for me, is an almost subconscious process. I never think about what I do when I paint. I hardly think at all. Surrounded by the soothing smell of linseed oil, I can disengage totally from what my hands are doing, or from what’s going on inside my own mind. It’s a testament to the trust I put in Julian and his security that I can allow myself to reach this state where I become completely unaware of my surroundings. There is only colors, shapes, and the strokes of brush on canvas. And whenever I come back to myself and look at what I’ve painted, I am surprised.

This time, I was not. Taking a step back from the easel, I smiled at my own folly.

Callum, of course. Warm colors; for once, there was nothing menacing or ugly about the painting. Just Callum, wearing a little less clothing than I’d seen him in. Breathtakingly beautiful. I’m setting myself up to be hurt again, I realized. And I knew there was no way I was going to stay away from the hospital, or from him.

Now I’m back in the children’s ward, obfuscated. Despite my longing for his company, I have to be careful not to show myself to him again. Deleting an imprint once is easy. Repeated imprints leave deeper marks, and I may not be able to dominate him into forgetting me again so easily. Admiring from afar – that’s all I’m going to do, all I’m going to have of him.

But first, the mystery of the boy who paints hieroglyphs and speaks ancient Greek. Maybe, if I talk to him a little more, I can find out why he won't speak the language his parents used. I've gone through his file, so I know that his parents were archaeologists, a fact that explains his aptitude with ancient languages. If I can get him to speak English again, it will be a help for Callum, who then can take over.

It's a way I can do something for him without being noticed.

I wait until Callum is busy in his office before I enter little Daniel’s room, now exposed to normal sight. He is sitting at the table, drawing, but he looks up as I enter.

"Good evening, child," I greet him in ancient Greek.

"Good evening," he answers solemnly. "Where have you been, Daedalus? I missed you."

For a moment, I am speechless. "You missed me?" I repeat stupidly.

He nods in that earnest way only eight year olds can nod. "You weren't here yesterday." He has to think a moment about the preterit tense, but he chooses the correct one.

"But the new doctor, Callum, is here."

"But he can't speak our language," he says in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Daniel, you will have to speak English eventually. If you don't, the only one you have to talk to will be me."

He looks away.

"Don't you like Callum?"

"Yes, I like Callum. But I don't like English. I never want to speak it again. I'd rather only talk to you my whole life."

The sound of the door opening makes me move to the wall in an instant. But I know there’s no way to avoid another confrontation even as I seek the shadows that are not there. No way to hide, no way to disguise myself; not in front of the child.

And there he is, blue eyes blazing with fury. "Stay where you are, and don’t you try this hypnotizing shit on me again!"

I face the young doctor impassively, admiring his passion and the fact that he overcame my effort to dominate his memory. Even more beautiful in real life! I resolve to let him make the next move and see where this situation takes us.

He looks over to Daniel. "We’ve got to talk," he continues much calmer, "but not in front of the boy. Follow me, now, if you please." Without waiting for a response or sign of assent, he turns and leaves the room.

I look at Daniel. The child looks less disturbed than I expected, which is encouraging. The most important thing now is to contain an escalation, so I do as I am told and follow the physician. There are still a few alternatives open to me, and only one of them includes killing this man – a thought already too horrible to contemplate.

 

* * *

 

_Callum_

I am waiting for him in my office. To my pleasant surprise, he follows me, enters stiffly and takes a hat stand pose near the door. I feel inclined to beg him into the room, for the last thing I would want to do is intimidate him, and I can’t have him standing by the door, actually. I am still not sure if he is a madman, or an idealist, or something else I wouldn’t have dreamt of, so I ask him as nonchalantly as possible to sit down. He declines, his face remaining still, his eyes avoiding me. So I stand up and walk to him.

Whatever is going on inside him, he is very good in hiding it, but he turns his head towards me, at least, saying, "You are a remarkable human being."

"As are you," I reply. "Nevertheless, I need a real good explanation for your being here, in this house."

His face is like mask-like. "I can give you none, except that the children need me."

"Insufficient." I try to swallow my up-surging anger, and I manage to remain calm, although he isn’t making it easy. Then I decide to treat him like I would treat any of my patients. After all, he definitely could be one of them. Hence, I explain in a professional, calm tone of voice: "See, I’ve been in charge for a week now, and these children are sick. They are very sick. And now I meet, in the middle of the night, a complete stranger who comes out of nowhere, enters their rooms and talks to them as if he was authorized to do so! What would you expect me to do?"

"I would expect you to do exactly what you are doing. In fact, I would not stop at interrogation. Fortunately for you, this situation will end differently: you'll let me leave unmolested, never to see me again. Now."

His answer surprises me, but if he can hide his thoughts, so can I. Before any second thoughts can interfere, I take hold of his arm. "Wait." I realize that his biceps is like steel. I realize, even more aware of the fatal mistake I could just have made, that he is, in fact, quite a bit taller than I am, and in very good shape. And his teeth are very… strange… He looks down at my hand, then up into my eyes, still expressionless, but he tenses. Besides my understandable worry to be beaten up the next moment, or at least shoved away brutally, I still detect something else behind the dark veil of his glance, something – good. My voice softens, and I add: "Please," and there the magic happens: he hesitates.

Small victories make little heroes bold, so I can hear myself saying, in the same sweet voice as before, "I will see you again, because there is a camera in every room, tapes are being made…"

Whatever else it does to him, at least it puts a smile on his face. "Of course. Clever."

In spite of this obvious lack of fear in front of the observer, I feel inclined to press on, adding, "And the matter won’t be settled that easily."

There he regains his former posture, his voice as cool as his eyes. "There is no matter to settle. I've committed no crime. I will leave, and that will be the end of this. Unless you wish to hinder me…?"

I feel beaten, but I can’t go back now. What do I have to lose? So, I stake everything on my last card. "Yuh, in fact I do. Because, as my grandmother put it, there’s always anaither chance."

"A chance? For what?"

He falters. And I feel relieved. "Look, would you sit down please? It’s the wee sma hoors already, and I’m tired." There now: He hesitates again, then he moves to sit down. Feeling much more confident now, I dare sit down on the desk in front of him. I don’t want anything solid between us now, and if I am going to go through with this, I have to take my chances and face the walls around him. Preferably in order to tear them down.

But there it is again, this unblinking stare, the stiff demeanour. And he is persisting. "There is no need for discussion of any kind. You may have your say, and then I will leave."

"You’re a tough one," I retort as jovially as I dare. "Has the thought ever crossed your mind that I might think you’re – well – a bit of a chancer?" I realize that I have started using words from my mother tongue without thinking of the consequences, and I silently hope that he doesn’t know them.

Obviously, I’m at least right about that, for he replies: "Whatever that may mean, you have no way of knowing what I am. And it’s not the point, either. Say what you wish to say."

"And you will listen."

He inclines his head.

I add: "You’re good at listening, aren't you."

Again, he gives me a graceful nod. And out of a sudden, everything seems clear and easy. I just need to go on. "The children trust you."

"Yes."

"What about… an agreement?"

There, I have him now. For the first time since I’ve met him, he looks puzzled. "What kind of agreement?"

I smile at him conspiratorially. "Well, to be honest, you seem to be doing a jolly good job here. And I could use some help."

His eyes grow wide. "You need my help?"

"Actually, well, yes." And I can’t keep myself from winking an eye at him, as I often do with children and colleagues alike.

My strange guest seems to slowly start something I would call relaxing, compared to his former posture, and says, "From what I’ve seen, you seem to be doing a very good job – for one so young."

"Thank you. I think. For one thing, I’m no good at – what was it, ancient Greek? And then, I need some sleep eventually. And there’s all the cameras about, and if you make a wrong move, you’re out." So, finally, the cards are on the table.

He won’t commit himself that easily, though. "Need I remind you that I was never ‘in’?"

"But you are, dear," I reply cheerfully, "and now you must take responsibility for what you’ve started, and not just run away. Think of the children. They need you."

"If it weren’t for the children, I wouldn’t be here!" Suddenly, his eyes become quite lively. "There have been crimes committed in this ward, and what dues need to be paid I'm here to pay - I was here to pay. Now you’re here, and the children need someone like you. You will take over from now on. You don’t need me."

"But I do. I… need you." And that’s a fact I come to believe while listening to my own voice.

In contrast to me, he doesn’t seem to believe me that easily. "How can you say that? You don’t know me…"

It’s one of the commonplace retorts I’ve heard so often in my life it makes me angry in an instant. "Yuh, that’s right. I know that you’re one devious son of a bitch, that’s why I had the cameras installed. But now, we’ve talked. That’s the only thing I wanted you to do, talk to me. But now I’m pretty sure that it might work. You could do one part, my humble self the other." I try to catch my breath and calm down again. "It could work fine… if I only knew your name."

"What are you saying? I can’t continue to be here, now that you know. It’s impossible."

"Know what? That you look a bit different? That you talk ancient babble like an actor? That you might be a colleague, apart from the fact that your looks need some getting used to? Well, the children don’t mind, I don’t mind. What’s your point?"

"You… want me to be here?"

As we are talking, I can feel quite different feelings growing inside of me, feelings that I wouldn’t in the least call professional. I see his eyes again, looking at me now, sad, almost imploringly. I know my voice will falter if I try to put into words what I’m thinking right now, so the only chance is to stand up to it with another commonplace. "And would you deign tell me your name?"

He is still flabbergasted. "I’m Daedalus."

"Okay. Daedalus. Please." And with this, I offer him my hand. Daedalus looks at the hand, then takes it.

 

* * *

 

_Daedalus_

I have to admit that this was the strangest situation I found myself in since Archon Raine asked me to take care of Julian after Manzanita some twelve years ago.

Then, I was overwhelmed by the trust he invested in me, a Nosferatu warrior, to watch over and comfort the Prince's childe so soon after a clan war - with nothing to go on but faith. And now, this mortal doctor also accepts me on nothing but faith. He saw me, he must have noticed my monstrous looks, and yet...

Of course, it could still be some elaborate trap, the paranoid part of me whispers, but I pay it no heed. All my instincts, woefully inadequate though they may be where mortals are concerned, tell me that this man is no enemy. If Callum McKay wished me ill, he would have acted by now. Instead, he welcomed me as a colleague, and asked for my help.

I'm still speechless.

I wish there was someone I could ask for advice. The fact remains that even letting a mortal see my face constitutes a breach of the Masquerade – a transgression I have already committed. Going through with this proposal would mean compounding my crime. I know this, and still I feel no compulsion to keep myself from this chance.

To talk to someone, to even work with someone who isn't Kindred – it would fulfil a dream I didn't even know I had. That this someone is a transcender makes my situation both easier and more complicated. If I do go through with this, how much will he guess about me, how much will he learn about what I am?

And on the heels of that thought follows another: Maybe he would even agree to be Embraced...

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First I have to see how this strange arrangement will work out. Therefore, I'll be here again tomorrow at sundown. How will it be? Will we talk much? He'll probably want to get to know me. What should I tell him? Mortals nowadays have so many means of information at their disposal. If I make up some story to explain my strange looks, he'll probably see through it. There are some things about me that our favorite standby, the porphyria story, will not explain, least of all if told a physician. But, of course, I can't tell him the truth, either, not that he would believe it.

All complications aside, the mere thought of spending time with this man, of talking, no matter what about, fills me with joy.

But first, there is another complication I'll have to take care of. It goes without saying that I can't allow this mortal to make and possess videotapes of me. I fade from sight, wait until Callum has left his office, and begin a search.

It doesn't take long to find out that there are no recorders in his office. None. The cameras, one in each room like he said, are connected to a monitor (password-protected at that), but there's no means of making recordings, not even the necessary cords. The mortal bluffed me!

I don't know whether to be annoyed or amazed, but then, amazement wins out. Truly a remarkable man, this Callum McKay. Shaking my head, I leave the hospital and head for the nearest manhole.

I will have to be careful on another front. Julian may have need of my help during the night, and if I’m not in my haven, and no one knows where I am, it may result in problems. After all, I am his Enforcer. This would mean being – what do they call it – AWOL, away while on leave. And I certainly feel no inclination to tell him about my new position. I already know what he’d say, and I don’t want to hear it, even if he’s right. Especially if he's right.

I shake my head. A position at a hospital. Treating children. Me.

 

* * *

 

_Callum_

I still can’t believe what I’ve done. I am lying in bed, and the few hours that remain to find some sleep will surely pass – well – unslept. My mind is in quite a euphoric state, although it can’t be just because of the discussion we’ve had. I should be used to confrontations, and I can’t remember a single one that has ended in – this: pretending to have employed a New Colleague in order to save my life. I don’t know him, he has no references whatsoever, I’m not even sure he is human (wondering how I come to think that thought again and again, but nevertheless thinking it), and yet I had to go and make him believe that he is of help. Why?

First and foremost it is because of the children. They seem to really need him. They seem to trust him. They talk to him. Why, of course they have found a great deal of confidence in me now, and maybe see something like a saviour in me, but the real guarding angel of this ward seems to be Daedalus. Or else, they are so afraid of him that they don’t want to risk antagonizing him, which would mirror my own suspicions, and I may turn out to be wrong after all in trusting him. Which I still feel I should.

And that’s about it. Tossing and turning and finding no sleep, I see his image floating in front of me. I am not really afraid of him, in fact, I think he is rather nice. I can hear my grandma chiding me for this word, saying something like "A nice person is someone who can bore you through an evening. Don’t say that about someone you really care for." Okay, grandma, point taken. He is more than that. I feel… safe with him, although I shouldn't because I don't know him and he looks quite a bit like a madman after all, and he has no right to do what he is doing. And so on. And yet. Under his constant stare it wouldn’t be easy even to stagger. And I like his hands. They are strange, yet they are honest hands, and sensitive, like those of an artist.

No, Callum, don't go there.

It must be past seven. Maybe I did fall asleep for a moment there. Anyway, I have to get up, and I can still feel his presence, even in the shower. The thought of him is quite distracting, and I try to get my mind away from it, urging it towards more pressing matters. Like the ward, and the money, and the annoying "state visit" tomorrow morning, including the big boss, the general hospital manager, and Julian Luna.


End file.
